


Jerk It Out

by Scrumpadouchus



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kinda, Oral Sex, Pre-Relationship, Very Close to Dating At This Point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22361869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumpadouchus/pseuds/Scrumpadouchus
Summary: Xayah helps Rakan out with a little problem.
Relationships: Rakan/Xayah (League of Legends)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 104





	Jerk It Out

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to Scrump is bad at writing smut! I got dared to do this by Star, so, here it is. Most of it was written after I was awake for far too long, and it has yet to be proof read. Enjoy.  
> 
> 
> This is a stand-alone smut that doesn't technically relate to my other fics, though it does reference them somewhat. So this is like a non-canon au to my other works, I guess haha.  
> 
> 
> Please let me know if you want the pt 2. I'm still debating doing it, if I don't die of embarrassment first. :thinking: 
> 
> **P.S. Jerk It Out by the Caesars is where the title is from. ; )**

\---------------------------------------  


“ – do we really need a tent tonight?” 

Rakan is standing on the tips of his feet, rolling back and forth from foot to foot. He scratches briefly at the feathers on his arm. 

_Still jittery from their last fight_ ? Xayah wonders. That’d been around noon, and had hardly been an issue. Neither of them had been hurt - the bandits hadn’t even been killed, either, instead opting to retreat back to some human town after tossing a bag of gold towards them. That one irked her, but it had pleased Rakan so, _overall_ , not a bad day. 

She glares at him dully. “Yes, we need a tent. I’m not waking up covered in dew – or from getting rained on.” 

Even off the beaten path, under the tree cover of a moderately dense forest, she can sense the moisture in the air, the impending rainfall. Late spring still had the majority of trees somewhat barren – this area was magic-starved, at least that’s what Rakan had said, and that wasn’t helping the flora grow large, weather-shielding leaves. 

The clouds had been gathering ominously, darkening from motives other than the setting sun. If they _didn’t_ get rained on by morning she’d be surprised. Even with the tent, she doubts they’d be completely free from getting wet. 

“Still.” Rakan bites his lip. “Do you find it warm here? ‘Cause I’m warm.” 

Xayah pulls free the rope ties on their rolled up tent, unfolds the leather and stitched fabric. She barely spares him a glance. 

“If you’re too warm, _you_ can sleep outside.” 

“No faaaaaair!” 

“Then help me set up.” Xayah jumps up, some coiled rope in hand. She tosses it; it misses the branch she was aiming for, drops back to hit her feet. Growling, she tries again. It goes over the branch on the second try, but doesn’t drop far enough over the other side for her to be able to reach it. Xayah jumps several times, fingertips just brushing the end of the rope. Huffing, she looks over her shoulder at Rakan, he’s staring at her but not seeing, eyes a little glossy. 

“Rakan! Are you sick or something? Help out, please, or I _will_ revoke tent privilege. I want this set up before it gets too dark.” 

He startles, blinks the dreamy expression away, turns it to a tight smile. 

“Oh! Yeah! Sorry.” 

His face is a little flushed, now that she squints at him. With their low-light vision she can still barely make out the dusty red of an embarrassed flush, spread all the way across his face like a masquerade mask. _Maybe he is sick_? 

Annoyance dampens with slight worry, circles back around to annoyance 

Why did she have to care so much? If he really is sick from the environment, they’d waste precious time waiting for him to heal. The downsides to travelling with a partner. 

“Are you okay?” She steps away from the tent, lifts her hand to his forehead. He groans, leans down so his cheek presses against her palm, eyes fluttering shut. 

_He doesn’t feel too much warmer than usual_ . She presses her thumb a little harder against his cheek. 

Then he pulls away, quick as a whip. 

“I gotta go.” 

“Wha- Rakan!” 

The taller man pushes past her, though as he rushes past he jumps and tugs the rope down to a level she could reach. 

“Going to go clean my feathers! I won’t be long!” 

Xayah glares after him as he disappears into the trees, not looking back. She tilts her ears, pivoting them towards that direction. It’s faint, but she can hear running water. 

_Lazy._

Frowning, she turns her back and focuses once again on the hanging rope. She attaches their bag of food supplies to the end then hoists it up high. _Can never be too careful_. _Now to finish the tent_. 

Snaps off two long flexible branches, green and young, threads them through the slots in the tent, then steps away. It holds its shape adequately enough. Xayah threads the end of a second rope under where the supports criss-cross. She picks a fat tree trunk, ties one end of the rope tight around one end, and then brings the other end over to another sturdy tree a few feet away, and ties it at around the same height. 

She gives the suspended rope a flick. 

Nice and taut. Good. 

Satisfied, she adjusts the position of the tent slightly, ensures the ends are weighted properly to the ground. When it’s as good as she can get, she unpacks their blankets and bedrolls. The lone sleeping bag is last. She stares a little too long, sucks in her cheek. 

_The night still carries a chill, even with little wind. We don’t have to discard it yet_ . 

Xayah scrubs at her face with her hands, past embarrassment rearing its head. Nostalgia hadn’t dulled the memories of that misadventure, at least not yet. 

Perhaps it was time to find Rakan. 

She heads towards where she heard the moving water, unsure of what they would come across. It’s too cold yet to be just bathing in flowing water sources in her opinion, but she could handle taking some in their cooking pot, heating it, and maybe using that to wash. Rakan was a different beast altogether; the cold didn’t bother him nearly as much as it did her. _Regional differences_ , he had always said. 

She takes their small cookpot with her. She creeps through the woods, alert for any signs of movement. _Fresh meat would be nice. Anything would do_. 

The sound of water is getting louder, drowning out most other significant sounds of brush or footsteps. Putting crawling through brush for a rabbit out of her mind for now, she peers through the treeline and finally spots the river. Rakan is on his back, lying on the grass of the riverbank while facing the water. _His hair looks dry_ , she notes first. _Did he not bathe after all_? Then, she notices a distinct lack of clothing and she drops the cooking pot as her hands jump up to cover her eyes. Luckily it hits the grass at her feet with a muted clack. She cringes, and ducks down, but a wary peek between the leaves shows Rakan hasn’t stirred from his position. 

It’s a bit late in the day to be sunbathing. 

She shouldn’t look. It’s disrespectful. 

Then he moans. 

Her ears twitch. _Is he…doing what she thinks he’s doing?_

In all their time together, all their travels over the past two years, she has never caught him in the ‘act’. They always bathed separately, but often one kept look out, and she never heard anything amiss the times she kept watch. Maybe he was just careful, waiting until she was asleep, or maybe he just got it out of his system during the parties and shows he threw from time to time. 

Again, hardly heard over the water. Her ears pivot, jerking upright the second she hears her name. He half gasps it, then cuts off into another moan. 

Xayah’s face burns red-hot. _He’s.._. 

Her hands drop just enough for her to peek a second time. 

Rakan’s still on his back, his knees drawn up, pointing to the sky. His hand is moving rhythmically, up and down around his cock with steady strokes even as his tail drags against the ground, listless. Xayah bites her lip, sucks in until it stings. She reaches out and grabs the nearest tree-branch with a hand, scratches her fingernails against the bark. 

She shouldn’t watch this. It’s private. 

_But_ \- 

Her knowledge of these things is lacking, but for once she feels a pull. Her eyes are stuck, unable to look away. Was he fantasising about her? She’s unsure as to whether she should feel disgusted or indignant or… 

...interested. 

Her fingers are idle, clenching once more against the branch before drawing back to her body. The heat on her cheeks has spread, sliding down the back of her neck to set her belly on fire. What was the point of this? From her own fingers she knows the brief bubble of pleasure that can come, but men were _different_. 

Rakan brings his free hand to his mouth, his hips jut up as his head jerks to the side. Another whine sneaks through, despite the attempt to stifle with his hand. 

Something changes. His strokes have become slower, moving with more of a twist than up and down, his thumb pausing on each beat to rub at the head. Another half-blocked moan and the base swells, plumping out much further than the rest of him. Xayah swallows hurriedly; her pulse is racing in her ears, her mouth inexplicably watering. Next her ears flick down, shamed. His tail has returned to being straight, feathers stuck out rigid and strained. 

_What was that_ ? _Was that normal? Did all men do this_? She has to swallow a second time, sucks back at her cheeks. Her whole body feels tingly, like she’s being pricked feather-light with the tips of a thousand needles. It doesn’t hurt, only vaguely tickles, in a way that makes her want to throw herself forward, dig it in deeper. 

Xayah leans slightly closer, not daring to go even near the treeline, but the allure draws her feet one step forward before practicality stops her. 

The strange bulb has inflated further, Rakan’s hand drops from where it’s being bitten in his mouth and changes to instead grip around the strange swelling, hiding it from view. Xayah feels a pang of disappointment more acute than when they’d lost the trail on an assassination target. 

A light breath of wind stirs the leaves behind her, dragging her hair forward like nature itself is pushing her to join him. Xayah shakes her head. She can’t. If he knows at this point that she’s seen him, he’d be...well probably not _mad_ , or even embarrassed, but he’d never let her live it down. 

Rakan’s left hand resumes the rubbing, almost frantically uneven, and she holds her breath, waiting for… something. She’s not sure what, but she knows _something_ is supposed to happen. His lower hand seems to be squeezing at his base, waiting for that moment that never comes. Still he continues for half a minute more, lifting his hips slightly off the ground before dropping a final time with a defeated sigh, a half-muttered curse. His arms drop to lay at his sides, leaving his cock still hard and swollen to rest against his stomach, pointing up towards his belly-button. 

_Looks painful_ . 

He starts to stir, rolling up onto his feet in a fluid movement, stretching out with a loud groan. Even from this distance he seems tense, and Xayah ducks down to be better concealed by the brush, waiting until she hears the splash of a body entering water before sprinting away, as fast as she can manage. 

Into the tent, she lights a lantern, runs their brush through her hair in three quick strokes, shoves off her day clothes in favour of a loose night-slip. 

Xayah slides into the sleeping bag, tunnels down deep until she’s sure her face is half hidden by the flaps. It takes a long while until she hears movement outside the tent. She’s mostly asleep when the tent flap opens and shuts. Then the sounds of strings lashing tight. 

Shuffling; the rest of their blankets being shaken free from their pack. Somewhere behind her she hears them being dropped onto the floor. 

_Is he making his own separate bedroll_ ? _We haven’t slept apart since the cave_... 

Rejection stings, but then she remembers earlier at the river and it makes a bit more sense. She reaches out a hand and swats at the tent floor. 

“What are you doing? Come to bed.” 

She squints at him through the sleep in her eyes. He’s holding their cookpot. 

“I found this in the woods.” He says. “...Do ya… know why it was there?” 

Xayah ducks a little lower in the sleeping bag. _Shit_. 

“I don’t know, did you forget it there?” She tries forcing her voice to sound unimpressed, impatient. “Can you join me please? It’s cold.” 

“...I didn’t think I brought it with me.” He says slow, unsure. 

“I asked you to bring me water, remember?” She presses again. 

“Oh. Oh right!” He moved to place it down, slowly, but stops before he does, a thought occurring to him. "Want me to get it now?” 

“No!” Xayah speaks without thinking, then bites her tongue. Rakan perks up his ears. “Don’t worry about it. It’s too cold out to do it now. It’s no big deal. Really.” 

“Sorry, I’ll get it for you tomorrow. I promise.” 

“Just come over here already. It’s late. I’m tired. Come.” She pats at the sleeping bag again, and Rakan finally places down the cooking pot, stepping over their stuff to the sleeping bag. 

He’s a bit stiff as he crouches and tries to slide in, still fully clothed. 

“What are you doing?” She yawns. “Take those off and get in. You’re going to get your feathers all ruffled if you sleep in all that.” 

He hesitates, then laughs awkwardly, pulling back out entirely. 

“Oh, I haven’t even groomed myself yet! Just sleep without me, I’ll join you later - “ 

“Rakan.” She sits up, hits the blankets with a slap much more decisively. “If you didn’t do it during all that time in the river, you’re not gonna get much cleaner now.” 

He turns the other way, already heading for the door. She launches half out of the bedding to yank at his tail. He yelps, spine jerking straight. His feathers fly up to stand on end, shudder running through him from top to bottom. 

“Are you sick?" She demands. Stands now, regretfully shedding her warm layers to step out and grab Rakan’s arm. He’s taller than her by more than a foot, but she reaches up her hand to his forehead, hovering it there to sense the heat radiating off him like a furnace. 

He flinches away from her touch, but she digs her nails harder into his arm. Tugs him down. He makes a soft sound in his throat and follows with no resistance, flops onto the blankets when she lets go. 

“No. Get in the sleeping bag. I’m freezing.” She shivers for emphasis as the front of her nightdress brushes against her now-sensitive front. Confused, she looks down a moment at her own front. Her nipples are stuck out, hard nubs pitching clear tents in her nightshirt. _Had he noticed_? She immediately crosses her arms, covering up the offending buds with her arms in an attempt to warm them. “So fix it.” She snaps at him, embarrassment making her hypersensitivity worse. 

Rakan looks almost queasy. He seems flushed in the soft light of the lantern. He wasn’t lying about having a temperature today, then. _Maybe he really is sick_. 

“I thought you said I had to sleep outside tonight.” 

“I lied. Stop stalling.” 

Huffing, she sits with her long legs folded under each other. She spots a drop of sweat run down from his brow, his eyes stubbornly averted to stare at the corner, and she sucks back her tongue to make a loud _click_. She tosses her hair over her shoulder. Crawls over to where he’s playing dead on the blanket and slides a hand up to slide over his cheek for the briefest of moments before continuing up to pet over his ears. 

“Please?” 

The lack of response spurs her to move closer, lean up to place a light kiss against his forehead. She can taste his sweat, and something strikes her hungry as she inhales slow. _He’ll have to bathe again after this_. 

_Tomorrow, right? That was for tomorrow. For now_ … 

It’s like before, staring out at the river. It’s not a charm, it’s not some kind of magic fascination. They haven’t drank today either. Still, it’s not like back then. She squirms in spot, pushing her thighs against each other. _He’s still lying still, like he doesn’t even dare to breathe. How_? 

Her face finds the crook of his neck, and she settles on top of him, shifting one of their blankets to lay half over them both. If he wouldn’t join her, she’d take it into her own hands. She knows he wants to, she just needs that last strand of willpower to break. Was he that afraid of making her sick too? Surely if sleeping together was the issue she would have caught it by now. 

A gust of wind stirs the trees outside. It slips through some gap in the tent, some spot where the thread must have loosened the stitches, and Xayah quivers, pushes against Rakan with an unhappy chirp. That seems to activate him. He sits up, taking her with him easily, and moves them both over to the sleeping bag. It’s stretched out at this point, giving them both a little more space and less like climbing into a cramped cocoon. 

He slides them both inside, shuffling in until they’re up to their necks. 

“Was that so hard?” She asks once they’re situated, and Rakan shakes his head. She shuffles out enough to snuff out their lantern, then slides back down. She can hardly see him now, even with their optimised dark vision. But she can _feel_ him, and that’s all that matters. 

It seems easier now, then even back when they were snowed in at the cave. Sighing, she rubs over him, slides one leg down to the heat between his, resumes nuzzling at his neck. _Why does he smell so good? Well, even better than before_. Xayah inhales deeply, rests her cheek against the smooth of his collarbone. 

He stays still, stiff as a board.Would he not hold her? Normally he’d be all over her, cuddling and spooning to share his warmth. Rakan’s hardly breathing; head turned up and away from her, his chest moving with shallow breaths. 

“Rakan. Hold me.” She fishes for his arm, finds it slid under his own back. _Pinning it down himself_? She laughs under her breath. It can’t be comfortable. 

“What, are your arms trapped?” She tugs one free, pulls it up and places it around her back. It lays there loosely, like a dead fish. When she drags up the second and places it over her back it does much of the same. She frowns, brushes her front against his, and his entire body locks up, muscles all rigid. 

_Was he in pain_ ? 

“I know you’re sick, but you can at least hold me.” It was beginning to set her on edge. Why wasn’t he touching her? Squeezing her? If he doesn’t react soon, she’s going to break into a million pieces, scatter off to four corners of the continent. He needs to _do_ something. _Say_ something. “Please?” 

She follows it up with a shy little cluck of her tongue, trying to appeal to him with whatever way instinct told her could work. When he stayed petrified like a statue, she huffs, rests her cheek back against his shoulder. 

“I’d rather if we… talked about this first.” He says it through gritted teeth, words barely slipping through. “Right now you’re… influenced.” 

“Mhmnn am not.” Xayah mumbles into his neck. Rakan clucks back at her, but finally he moves his arms, turns her to face away from him before pulling her hard against his body, fitting against her like spoons. He shoves a hand under her to hug about her stomach, the other over her side. She purrs at the rough treatment. Rakan doesn’t seem like he would be letting her go any time soon. 

“Go to sleep, Xayah.” His chest rumbles with his words. She shivers, pushes back against his core. His arms are holding her over her night-slip, his chin pressing in at the top of her head. 

“No.” 

Xayah squirms again. She’s restless, not ready to sleep just yet. Turning her head side to side, she tugs again at the arm thrown over her. _It’s not enough_. 

He’s all tensed up again, just like before. Now that she notices, he’s not completely lining her back. His chest and arms she can feel, but past that they no longer touch. _Bent away from her_. Xayah frowns; _time to fix that_. 

Tossing and turning, she squirms in their confined space, pushes backwards until she hears him inhale, sharp. 

_Oh_ . She realises with great empathy, _he’s hard_. 

_Back at the river, when he’d lain on his back and moaned her name, rubbed at himself with no relief_ . Heat rises back to her face, and she swallows. 

Xayah turns back to face Rakan. _I can help him_. She slides her hand down his chest, to pull lightly at the drawstrings. His hand catches her before she manages to slip inside. 

“Don’t. You’re not… it’s not…” Rakan’s voice is tight as the rest of him. “You don’t need to. I’m okay.” 

“I know.” She rubs her cheek against his neck. _He smells so, so good._ If she could stay lying like this forever, breathing him in, she would _._ “I want to. Please?” 

It’s all she’d been thinking about for the past two hours. What would he taste like, feel like? His hands were much bigger than hers... _would I be able to hold him properly_? _Especially once he swelled_ … she sucks briefly on her tongue, mouth tingling. 

_Only one way to find out_ . 

She initiates again, fiddling with the waistband of his slacks. His grip on her weakens by the second, matching his resolve. 

“Xayah -” His voice sounds pained. “I don’t want you to regret this.” 

_Regret_ ? The thought strikes her sad. _Would he ever regret me_? 

“I won’t. I would never.” Some deep part of her, some long-ignored voice draws her near. He’s been at her back for so long, supporting her without question. Recently, their joined sleeping arrangements had brought her a comfort she never knew possible. This felt right. She could do this for him. 

One last attempt; he trembles slightly as he meets her determined gaze. She watches his adam’s apple bob, then Rakan lets go of her wrist. 

Xayah slides her hand down, _finally_ , past the loose cloth and to the warmth kept hidden there. Her heart races, she feels it bounding in her chest, expects that if she looked down she could see it pounding against her skin. A grasp; he’s so soft against her palm. Warmer than her own flesh. She closes her fingers around it lightly, tentatively as she could dare. _What if I hurt him_? She glances up. 

Rakan’s eyes are closed, yet he still seems timid. 

“Your pants.” She says then. “Shouldn’t… uh… shouldn’t we take them off?” 

“Um, we should - “ Rakan starts to shift, shuffling in the confined space. “ - maybe not in here. We can - “ 

They had only just moved into the snug sleeping roll for heat, but she could see his point. _Not enough room_. Touching him wasn’t enough. _I want to see him, like back at the river_. _Plumped and wanting_. 

“Yeah. Okay. The blankets?” She speaks quickly, climbs over him to wiggle out of the shared space first. She hears him inhale sharply as she passes over him, and she looks back at him questioningly once she’s free and sitting in the middle of the tent. 

Rakan has drawn the drawstrings of the sleep-sack tight, effectively sealing himself inside. 

“Rakan, what are you doing?” 

He makes some kind of groan in reply, sound stifled like he had stuffed a blanket in his mouth. 

Xayah crawls over to the wiggling sack, pokes at it hard. Rakan makes a little yelp. 

“I’ll pinch you.” She warns, starts poking at the bag with her thumb and pointer fingers. 

It proves hard with the padding, she’s not sure whether she’s pinching him or just the blankets. She gives up quickly, huffing. Rakan was still a worm, hiding in the sack. 

“I’ll jump on you. I’m not afraid.” 

She pounces on him, enough to hear his gasp from inside the blankets, and hugs him with all her strength. 

“Rakannnn. You’re not shy, are you?” 

It was maddening. She had been there, touching him, ready to proceed. Now they were back to the beginning. 

She paws down at the body she feels through the bag, lets out a whine, nestles into the outside of the sleeping sack. The body she straddles remains still; she can barely sense his breathing. A sad chir clicks off her hard palate, and then finally he shifts, sending her tumbling off his back as he finally frees himself from the sleeping bag. 

“Xayah… are you _really_ sure?” His chest is heaving, like the effort of holding himself back from _something_ is immense. Shivers run up her spine. His pupils are dilated, twitchy. _His back on the grass, arched and moaning my name..._

She opens her arms. 

Rakan dives in to them, the last shred of willpower shattering beyond repair. He slams into her and she topples onto her back, instinct guiding her to hug onto him. He buries his face in her hair a moment, breathing deep. She allows that a moment, lifting her feet and tugging down his pants, an impressive feat using just her dextrous toes. Rakan doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with taking in her scent. Eventually she nudges him. 

“Rakan, I need you on your back. Okay honey?” 

The term of endearment sticks to her mouth like sap, burns her cheeks in its wake, but it seems to do something for him. With a shudder he rolls off of her, freeing her movement and leaving him prone, lying on the spare bedroll and blankets on his back. Xayah sighs in relief. _Finally_. 

The lantern light still flickers in its cage, giving her more than enough to see by. Little scars line his body, all things she’s seen before. She traces lower, below the belly-button. His tail is flicking again, restless tracing on their spare blankets. Her free hand snaps forward and pins it to the floor with a slap. He flinches, and she drags two fingers down the full length of his tail as apology. This makes him shiver, feathers she can see fluffing up slow. 

_Back to business_ . 

Xayah holds her breath; she goes farther down, down the soft blond down of his treasure trail, _back to_... 

Her face tingles and she looks back up at his chest. It seemed much easier in the sleeping bag, where she could touch and not see, or at the river, where she was watching from a distance. Xayah pinches her own thigh - _it’s now or never_ \- and reaches forward. 

He has more fluff down there, well groomed and moderately short. Her fingers comb through it gingerly, aware that doing so probably was ruining whatever combing or styling Rakan had done with it earlier. Rakan’s breathing is measured now; mechanically even with its rising and falling. Xayah feels her jaw tighten, and she forces her eyes to take in her partner fully. 

His cock is nestled amongst the rest of the pseudo-feathers, half-standing tall, leaning with a slight tilt. Fluttering in her stomach, her gut fills with air-light butterfly wings. Xayah bites her tongue, continues navigating a little lower. _Save the best for last_. She ghosts past it, arrives farther between his legs. 

Male anatomy is mostly alien to her. It’s with a sense of innocent curiosity that she slips a hand between Rakan’s upper thighs and touch the soft, rounded flesh hidden there. _Men had such a part? What was its purpose_? _Did it just hang there with no securement?_

It’s softer than she expects, squishier, like a ball. She holds it in one palm, compresses it lightly with her other hand. She meets a surprising amount of resistance, flesh feeling semi-firm. _Was it supposed to be swollen like this? Or was something wrong_? _Males are weird_. 

“Rakan,” She gives it another light squeeze and peers up at him. Rakan has his face hidden in the crook of his elbow. “Is it normally like this? Is it uncomfortable?” 

“Nhnn. Xayah…” He swallows several times. “It’s because…” He cuts himself off. 

“What?” 

“...I’m in rut.” 

_Rut? What was that_ ? _Some male condition, clearly_. Her lack of knowledge of honestly alarming, but not surprising. Though, when it came to traditions of her own gender, she knows she’s lacking knowledge there too. 

He must have noticed her pause, because he adds; “It’s like a heat, but for guys.” 

_Ah. I should have guessed that. Though, he wasn’t being as grumpy or cuddly as he should be for a male-hea_ t. 

She tracks back upwards, traces around the quivering member. Heat radiates off the satin-soft flesh, but as her hand gets close it twitches, flinching up further towards his stomach. _He can move it_? 

The next time she gets near it happens again, but she doesn’t spook. She grasps him despite his flinching, and she hears an abrupt inward breath. 

_It’s firmer than earlier_ , she notes first. Takes a second to squeeze his shaft lightly, pressing in with a thumb. Runs it down along a firm muscle she can feel just below the skin, then runs down a pulsing vein. Encouraged, she runs her mostly-closed hand down the entirety of the shaft, tip to base. 

Rakan’s knees draw up immediately, a low chirrup warbling out from his throat. Xayah’s feathers bristle, she waits a moment for his legs to relax back down, but they stayed poised, his toes digging down into the slight depths of their blankets. 

She pumps her hand again, twisting with her wrist so she rubs as much of him as possible with each stroke. _That’s what he’d done back at the river, right_? She continues the motion slowly a few minutes, gauging the strength of the him. _Maybe he’s less delicate than I thought_. As she works him she feels it grow stiffer, filling out past where her hand could comfortably grip.Originally he had been about the length from the heel of her wrist to the tip of her middle finger, but now he had lengthened an inch or so further. 

“Are you okay? Am I doing it right?” She asks. 

“Y-yeah - “ His breath hitches, and when she looks back up at him he’s pointedly looking away, a flush creeping up his neck to his face like a creeping tide. His tail is dragging back and forth against the bedroll, a repetitive rustling noise following it. 

Another pull and she drags the loose skin down, retracting it from the bulb-like tip. The head that pops free is reddened and glistening, looking almost sheepish. Xayah tilts her head to the side. She rubs her thumb over the tip faintly, then squeezes a little harder. A semi-clear fluid beads from the tip, wetting the pad of her thumb before dripping down the side, wetting his cock with a slight sheen. 

Saliva pools under her tongue. Xayah squirms in place; her night slip is keeping her far too warm, her inner thighs uncomfortably wet and sticky. Shifting helped nothing; heightening the sensation of wet fabric against her privates even more. Huffing, she leans back a moment, letting go of Rakan to strip off her panties, wiggling until they’re far enough down her legs to be kicked off to the floor. The cooler air that hits her doesn’t do much to soothe the growing ache deep between her legs, but somehow it seems preferable to before. 

_That’s a little better_ . 

Xayah moves back to Rakan’s side, fingers shaking in their eagerness. His cock lays fully against his stomach now, pointing up, a smear of precome left near where the head had rested. Xayah tuts at him. 

“You’re so messy.” 

“Speak for yourself.” He gestures towards her thighs and Xayah looks down to see the shine of her own excitement soaking her inner legs. Her face burns. _Revenge._

She takes a second, looking him over head to toe, then pinches his scrotum. Rakan yelps as his dick jumps up abruptly, another glob of the thick fluid drooling out from the opening on its head. Still, she takes him back into her hand anyway, bats it down only to watch it spring back up, then resuming the heavy petting with her now-wet palm. 

“See?” She teases warmly. “So messy.” 

Rakan appears to be holding his breath; eyes squeezed shut with his hand half stuffed into his mouth. She can see light teeth marks. The head continues to weep precome along with her strokes, cloudier in colour than before. His stomach is tense, laying her free hand on it lets her feel the muscles flutter in sync with her rubs. Occasionally his knees knock together, tense up, then relax. 

_He’s too fidgety_ . Xayah bites her lip. She crouches from where she’s kneeling at his side, and changes to sit atop his stomach, one thigh pressing on either flank. Rakan makes an _oomph_ sound as she settles her weight, stomach tensing and making her slide slightly, but she pushes down more against him, and it steadies her. 

Sparks fly as she grinds down onto him a second time, her gut burning with a warmth that travels _down_. Slightly breathless, she focuses back on him, on his weeping cockhead, swollen ruddy and glossy. Xayah licks her lips. _What did he taste like? He didn’t seem too big to fit in her mouth or otherwise_ … 

Bracing herself first with her thighs, Xayah leans forward and stops when her face is inches from Rakan’s manhood. The muscles of Rakan’s stomach have gone rock tight under her. This close, she can detect a distinct scent; heady and masculine, like sweat but _not-quite_ , the scent she had known from his skin but amplified by a thousand. 

Then she licks across the tip. 

Her tongue thrums with the taste of him. _Slightly bitter, musky_. _Strange. Unique. But not bad_. Considering all the sweets Rakan enjoys, it’s surprising. Rakan grunts; his hips jerk up as the base of his member swells out with a _pop_ , skin shiny and tight. He drops his hips suddenly after, following it with a whine muffled by his hand. 

“Ah!” Xayah almost slips off him, scrabbles back to sitting on his lower stomach to stay put. Her tail feathers lift up, tickling the base of her spine. There’s a part of her that wants to lean down again, put the tip of him past her lips and really _savour_ , but another that urges _later_. She can smell of him, taste of him later. For now... 

"Oh," She breathes, excited. _Finally_. “There you are.” 

This is what she wanted. Him desperate and tight, ready to pop at her touch. 

_Just like back at the river. What had he done then_ ? Started rubbing himself slower, twisting down the shaft, using his thumb to play with the head while the other had squeezed around the base. 

_I can do that. Easy_ . 

She works him slower, making sure to draw back on the skin near the head with each stroke, thumb pushing near the top on every off-beat, her left hand trailing down to feel around where he was engorged. She places her hand around the bulge, but doesn’t squeeze in just yet, briefly examining him first. 

It’s just as warm as the rest of him. _It must be uncomfortable… no wonder he had been frustrated at the river. But still. Is this supposed to fit inside me?_ Her mind blanks a moment, and she quickly corrects herself _. Well not me, but inside any female? Were we built to be able to take such a thing_ ? At first it had seemed plausible, but looking at him now, up close made her less confident. 

Some instinct inside her whispers; _try and find out_ , but Xayah shakes her head, banishing the thought. Tonight was for helping Rakan feel better. 

Xayah squeezes her hand around the knot. Muscles tense. Suddenly his large hands are gripping her hips. The cock in her hand starts to _pulse_ , a thick spurt of white fluid expels from the head and streaks across her night slip. Xayah drops him a moment, recoiling only slightly, before rolling her eyes fondly and retaking him between her hands. 

_Ah. He’s so messy_ . 

Still, she hears him panting behind her, and her tongue starts to tingle. _There has to be more_. 

She resumes stroking him, her heart running a marathon in her chest when she sees more white gushing out from the tip after only two more jerks. This time it didn’t splatter as far as to hit her nightdress, instead the weaker spurt let it drip down his shaft in ropy globs. Rakan moans her name, and she hears a few, perfect seconds of it before his voice becomes muffled and half-blocked from his palm once again. 

Soon her hands are covered, his lower stomach, upper thighs, cock and balls completely soiled with his own mess. Xayah doesn’t even want to consider the state of the blankets underneath them. Yet he kept making _more_ , her squeezes and kneading never failing to make his toes curl, followed by a stuttering pulsing, the release of more of the viscid fluid from his weeping cock. 

_No wonder he had hid away near the river earlier_ . If she had fit him inside herself before he popped, then maybe… 

A pang of regret. A tingling deep down from her core. Xayah clenches inward, but it does nothing to alleviate the throbbing of her groin. 

_I don’t even know if I’d have room for it all_ … _But_ … She sighs heavily. _It would have been nice to try_. 

She looks back up at her partner. What parts of his face he doesn’t have covered with his arms is bright red. _Why is he so embarrassed_? This was only natural for him, wasn’t it? 

_This is what he had wanted earlier, by the river. When he had moaned my name..._

... _Perhaps he had imagined me using something other than my hands_. 

Maybe it was time to work at cleaning him up. One look down to her night slip showed drying streaks of his mess. Xayah clucks her tongue and pulls the whole thing off in one go, wiping her hands on the fabric before it dematerialises. Looks over her shoulder once again. Rakan is no longer covering his face, instead staring at her, mouth gaping. 

“Um, Xayah, you - “ His adam’s apple bobs, his arms scrambling to be able to sit up. “ - you’ve really done enough, I can - “ 

She tightens her grip around him a moment, and he immediately cuts off with a groan, dropping back to his elbows. 

“You should have told me you’d make so much.” She squeezes again to prove her point, is rewarded with another generous splatter running over her fingers. 

Rakan digs his hands back into their blankets and starts pushing himself back up. Her weight on his stomach didn’t seem to be an obstacle; Xayah falls forward with a startled squeak as he straightens up, sending her toppling face first onto their spare bedroll, rear end high in the air. 

“Rakan!” She half-shouts, indignant. _He’s so rude_. She glares at him over her shoulder but he’s only staring, fixating down at some spot below her tail feathers. Transfixed, like hit by some kind of spell. His nostrils flare, pupils blown dark while his forearms shake. She smiles slyly, righting herself from all fours back to her knees, and shuffles to kneel between his legs. 

She puts one hand on each of his thighs and he parts them immediately. She chirps at him, a trill that vibrates happily in her throat. Xayah watches his eyes go soft, his face openly adoring. _How long can he stay like this_ , she wonders, _when does the tipping point start_? 

Xayah’s heart skips a beat. 

_Why did I ever wait so long to do this_ ? Her mind spins with the question, the pull to taste skin, touch every part of him, be covered in his warmth luring her in like attracting poles. _This was perfect_. 

Her lips part, anticipating. He doesn’t move as she dips back down, kisses the tip of him, traces lines down his cock with her tongue, cleaning him off one strip at a time. Rakan tastes stronger than before, the taste not as diluted as the clearer fluid. 

Xayah then grasps him with both hands, takes him into her mouth. His gasp sends butterflies to her stomach. She’s new to this, but she can _learn_. She takes a moment to adjust, while his thighs tense on either side of her. Then she squeezes again around the knot, massages upwards with the other hand while holding him still. 

The taste of him explodes onto the back of her tongue; Xayah moans around him, swallows a few times in quick succession to take all of him in, daring to edge closer and closer to the back of her throat. The shape of him felt so good in her mouth, delectable enough to make her drool. She doesn’t dare to pull off even to breathe, instead taking quick inhales through her nose as her tongue occupies itself with exploring every inch of him.. 

“Ah! Xayah, teeth!” Rakan chokes out, and she hums apologetically at him, pulling off to give the tip a quick kiss, then retracting her lips a little to cover up her pearly whites. 

It takes a few more seconds of adjustment. Xayah shuffles in spot, stretches out her back. Rakan’s cock is glistening with saliva and what was left of his essence that she didn’t clean off, still standing stiff with a slight tilt. Xayah retakes him between her hands and slides him back over her tongue with a happy sigh. She bobs her head, up and down, getting into a steady rhythm, continues to pull harder and harder each time, hollowing out her cheeks. Rakan is inconsolable, legs twitching and hips jerking up against her hands every few seconds. One of his own hands drifts to rest over Xayah’s head, but despite her expectations he doesn’t pull her hair or push her face down against his groin, instead runs his thumb over her ears a few times before retreating back to fist the blankets. 

Eventually she notices he’s producing less, the curious swelling at his base shrinking under her hands. Lavishes her tongue around his head, twists her hand around his engorgement. Only a smear of half-bitter drops grace her taste buds. Clucking in disappointment she pulls off of him with a _pop_ , her lips swollen and cherry red as she swallows a final time. Rakan’s chest is heaving, mouth agape. She palms over again, just to give his shaft and balls a final squeeze; he’s returned to being soft, even the root of him no longer looking as puffy and tight as before. 

“Feel better now?” She releases him, then wipes her forearm across her mouth. 

Rakan closes his mouth. He nods shortly, sits up to face her properly. 

“But what about you?” He gestures back at her obviously soaked thighs, the glistening down that covered her privates, then her bare breasts with their perky buds.. Despite the recent events, the fire within her has died back down to an easy smolder, somehow currently satisfied simply from seeing his satisfaction. On the contrary she feels like goop, like she could melt into a puddle of contentment right where they sit, on the spoiled spare linens. 

Rakan meets her gaze, and she doesn’t have to speak. 

He gives himself a hasty, rough wipe with a spare blanket, then takes her by the hand and tugs her towards him in lieu of an answer. Rakan leads her up onto her feet then back over to their original bedroll, sleeping bag and blankets. 

Rakan clasps her to him, effectively caging her in his arms as he tucks them both in, smothering them with his warmth. They lay face to face, his chest shakes as he rumbles at her, and Xayah’s heart jumps up in her throat. Their foreheads meet, pressing together for a few long seconds. When they part, it feels like the release of a held breath. 

“You really didn’t have to do all that…” his lips trace her hair-line, while his fingers walked paths over her back, over her tiny hind-feathers. 

_Maybe I didn’t. Not technically. But_ \- 

“I wanted to.” Xayah resumes nuzzling into his broad front. _He smells so good still… maybe his rut isn’t over yet, perhaps I can get him to pop again once he’s rested for a few hours_ . 

“Mhm. Well… I owe you one, for when it’s your turn. Sound fair?” 

Xayah mumbles back noncommittally, too preoccupied with the feeling of Rakan’s nails tracing over her back. After half a minute, his words click, and she blinks. 

“Wait - My turn?” 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is gonna be deleted once I wake up haha


End file.
